


All is Semblative

by Whitefox



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Fairy Tales, First Time, Genderbending, Humour, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitefox/pseuds/Whitefox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinderella, Merlin-style.  Somehow, not AU.  Or crack.  Uther throws three balls to try to find Arthur a wife, or so he says.  Merlin has some issues with this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All is Semblative

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night: "All is semblative a woman's part."

Once upon a time, Merlin had a plan.

It was a bad, horrible, disastrous, evil, soul-destroying…_Arthurian _plan, and Merlin should have realized that from the beginning but didn’t because he really was an idiot and also just didn’t _learn_, and he really should have given up on this magic business long ago because clearly he was rubbish at it and just gone off to live in a cave somewhere or locked himself inside a tree where he could never traumatize anyone ever again, especially himself.

The bad, evil, absolutely no good plan started innocuously enough.  Or as innocuous as Uther throwing an extravagant three-day ball with the expressly stated intent to find Arthur a wife could be.

“So, why is he doing this?”

Merlin was perched on the trunk in Arthur’s room, busily polishing his helmet in the sense that he wasn’t polishing it at all, more like attempting to look busy until Arthur got bored and left and Merlin could finish the job using magic.  Even though Arthur did know about the whole sorcerer business now, Merlin still had a sneaking suspicion that the prince wouldn’t react too kindly to Merlin using his magic to do his chores right under Uther Pendragon’s nose just because he was a _lazy arse_.  Gaius wasn’t so fond of the idea either, but Merlin figured what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.  Or him.  (Arthur had taken the whole magic thing surprisingly well, actually, if you didn’t count the initial explosion with the accusations of enchantments and bewitching, and then the week of not speaking to Merlin or acknowledging his presence at all, followed by a truly grueling week of sparring and hunting trips that left Merlin sore for weeks, all interspersed with lectures about how being magic didn’t mean he was immortal, so would he please stop throwing himself in front of magical monsters and trying to sacrifice himself before he forced the prince to put him out of his misery because Merlin was definitely the _worst _sorcerer he’d ever seen.  Other than that, Arthur had been grand.)

“You were there,” Arthur said absently, feet propped up on the table and fiddling with his dagger.  Even after all this time, the habit still made Merlin faintly nervous.

Merlin restrained himself from rolling his eyes, mainly because that would interfere with the Very Busy persona he was attempting to maintain.  Merlin _had _been there, although he wasn’t entirely sure why; but Arthur knew that wasn’t what he had meant.  “I mean, _why _is the King doing this now?  Why not ten years from now, or never?”

Arthur snorted, but said, “My father wants to see what I’ll sell for, and the best way to get the highest offers possible is to make sure everyone knows it’s a competition.  Officially he’ll say it’s my decision, but unofficially, he gets the final say.  That way, he doesn’t risk losing anything to my whims, but he can still blame my ‘contrariness’ if he doesn’t get a good enough offer.  Which he won’t.  I don’t think my father is ready to throw away such a valuable bargaining chip just yet.”

“Oh.”  Merlin paused in his not-polishing; he couldn’t think of much to say to that.  The idea of using marriage as a bargaining chip was just another facet of Arthur’s life that was as foreign to him as flying was to a fish.  “But what if…you do find someone?”

“I won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“My father will want to show me off, and there will be so many people there that I doubt I’ll get to talk to anyone for more than a few minutes.  One sentence does not true love make.”

“But—“

“It doesn’t matter.”  Arthur stood and sheathed his dagger in one smooth motion that made Merlin faintly jealous.  “Even if I did…but I won’t, so it doesn’t matter.”  With a final vague hand gesture that reminded Merlin of when Arthur was trying to refer to magic ‘subtly’, the prince left his chambers and Merlin was forced to consider the subject closed.

At least he could start on his chores properly now.

 

*

 

“What do you mean I can’t go?”

Arthur completely ignored Merlin’s spluttering and continued to dig into his chicken leg with great gusto.  “It’s going to be a huge ball, Merlin; if personal servants were allowed to attend, there wouldn’t be room to stand.”

“So there’ll be no servants at all?”  Merlin felt both incredulous and awed by the concept.  Imagine, all those royals pouring their own drinks, spilling blood red wine all over their fine silk…

“Of course there will be,” Arthur scoffed, carelessly shattering Merlin’s happy vision.  “Castle servants, kitchen staff; servants who don’t belong to anyone in particular.  We can’t have hundreds of maidservants getting underfoot, and if the ladies aren’t allowed their maidservants then in the interests of fairness all personal servants must be banned.”

“Even me?”  Merlin hadn’t meant to say it, really; it had just come out despite himself in his disbelief.  Since when did he get excused from anything?

Arthur laughed.  “Contrary to what you seem to believe, Merlin, your ineptitude does not make you special.  You’ll have the evening off.”

And that just wasn’t fair; after all the banquets he’d had to suffer through with Arthur, now when the event held some real entertainment value and mocking potential, he couldn’t even watch?  “But—“

“Merlin.  You can’t come.  How many times do I have to say it before it gets through your thick head?”

So of course Merlin made it his new life’s goal to get into that ball no matter what, even if he had to use magic to do it.

 

*

 

In hindsight, that’s where things really started to go terribly wrong.  Gaius was always harping on about the importance of intentions in magic, as well as the actual spoken words, but Merlin only listened about half the time, mainly because he was usually too exhausted from working for Arthur to properly concentrate.  His book mentioned intentions too, which was why it explained the effects of certain spells down to minutiae; you had to know what you wanted to happen as well as how to make it happen if the spell was going to work. 

Neither the book nor Gaius had ever mentioned that intentions could make the spell do something else entirely. 

In hindsight, Merlin should probably have conducted some trial runs (as Gaius was so fond of saying) or made some attempt to settle his mind or maybe even read the spell straight out of the book instead of trying to recite it from memory.  In hindsight, all of these were wonderful ideas that he definitely should have invested in, but at the time Merlin just couldn’t be bothered.  And so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when things went terribly wrong.

It was Merlin’s life, after all.  Clearly he had been cursed at a young age.  (Maybe it was that goat that had lived in the baker’s yard when Merlin was little and stared at him unblinkingly every time he had to cross the field to go see Will.  Those bottomless black eyes had always been more than a little creepy, and the goat’s abrupt disappearance one year more than a little suspicious.)

It was supposed to be a camouflaging spell, something that would allow him to pass unnoticed through the hoards of people in the ballroom.  Initially he wanted to do an invisibility spell, but after a tiny bit of experimentation with that he discovered that the spell made the caster invisible even to themselves, and decided that it was far too unsettling to do anything when he was never quite sure where all his body parts were.  If he couldn’t even make it across his own room without knocking something over with a stray invisible limb, he had no chance in a crowded ballroom.  People would start screaming _sorcerer _in seconds flat.

So this spell was a bit different.  It basically caused people not to notice him, allowed him to slip past their attention and blend in.  He would still be physically present, and people would notice him enough to avoid bumping into him or sitting on him or anything similarly awkward, but that would be about the extent of it.  According to the spell, no one would even be able to look straight at him.  It was perfect.

 

*

 

The night of the first ball Merlin helped Arthur get ready and did his best to appear innocent and completely not suspicious in any way.  Merlin thought he was doing quite well until Arthur asked him flat out what idiotic thing he was planning now.  For once Merlin’s mind helped him out (because whatever Arthur said, he was not _actually _an idiot) and he said he was meeting Gwen, who also had the night off.  Merlin was actually prepared to elaborate, but Arthur seemed to shut down at that, and was quiet for the rest of the preparation.  Merlin was confused, but he definitely didn’t want to answer any more questions and he had more important things to deal with tonight than another of Arthur’s odd moods, so he let it go.

As soon as he had seen Arthur off in all his red and gold glory, Merlin slipped down the hall in the opposite direction, using servants' passages to reach the ballroom safely.  Even two corridors away he could tell this was going to be hard, even with magic on his side; Arthur hadn't been kidding about the numbers.  Noblewomen of all flavours lined the halls, chatting with each other amiably enough while they waited for their turn to enter.  The lines bunched up at the double-door entrance to the ballroom, where a pair of guards asked names and performed cursory weapon checks before admitting lady after lady.  A fuzzy sense of camaraderie floated through the halls, and Merlin felt sure that many of the women weren't here by their own volition.

And so when Merlin withdrew into an alcove and muttered his spell, perhaps he wasn’t concentrating as much he should have been on the camouflaging intent of the spell, and perhaps thinking a bit too much about the noblewomen’s plight and how it must feel for them, being paraded in front of Arthur like prize mares by their relatives.  But Merlin felt the spell work regardless, so he assumed he hadn’t been as distracted as he thought.  Until he properly took stock of the situation, that was.  When he actually realized what had happened, he quickly became properly engulfed by horror.

Observation number one: Merlin was wearing a dress.  A dress that he most _definitely _did not own, had not been wearing moments ago, and had in fact never seen before in his life.  It was made of dark red silk to match the fanciest dresses in the waiting lines, and embroidered at the edges with swirling gold patterns that reminded Merlin of fire.  A closer look revealed tiny dragons in the stitching, and with slight horror Merlin realized he and Arthur now _matched_. 

Observation two: his head felt heavy.  Merlin reached up experimentally, and found that he had a lot more hair than he remembered.  Moreover, something had been done to it; he felt patterns beneath his hand, where the hair had been twisted and coiled in some bizarre fashion.  He shook his head, but despite the impossible balance, the entire mess did not collapse on the spot.  Silky strands brushed across the back of his neck, making him shiver at the unexpected contact.  As he reached back to test the length of his hair, he encountered a chain around his neck, and followed it down to a red gem clutched in gold talons.  It looked ordinary enough but when he touched it he felt the magic glowing warmly inside.

Observation three: something else felt very, very wrong.  This one, being vaguer than the others, required a bit more exploration, and so Merlin took a moment to think it through.  His hands looked weird, but he couldn’t figure out quite what was wrong until he took a step and then _oh_. 

A girl.  He had turned himself into a bloody _girl_.  By _accident_. 

That shouldn’t even be _possible_.

Merlin took a deep breath and tried not to scream or die – or faint, which would be by far more disastrous than those first two.  He’d set the intended spell to wear off at midnight; with any luck, this…whatever it was would be over then too.  So all he had to do was survive until the clock struck twelve.

Merlin paused.  He looked at himself, at the lines of waiting ladies, and then at the guards. 

…He hadn’t turned himself into a girl for nothing.

A simpler, much more temporary version of the initial camouflage spell (said with utmost concentration this time) got him past the guards without having to give a name, and then he was out in a swirling sea of blues, greens, golds and reds all topped by beautiful, chattering faces and promptly forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

“Extravagant, isn’t it?” a voice said beside Merlin’s ear, and the sorcerer barely managed to stop himself jumping a foot in the air and making an utter fool of himself.  With wide eyes that he couldn’t seem to shut, he turned to look at Morgana.

The king’s ward was also dressed in gold and red, and Merlin began to wonder if he’d committed some courtly faux-pas by choosing those same colours for himself (although technically he hadn’t chosen them and this was all his magic’s fault anyway). 

“I’m sorry, it’s just…have you been in Camelot before?”  Morgana’s brow furrowed a bit, no doubt in response to Merlin’s less than stellar social skills.  “You seem familiar.”

“Er, no, my lady,” Merlin stuttered back, wincing inwardly while a voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Arthur called him all sorts of idiot.  Also, did his voice sound higher?  “This is my first visit.”  Yes, most definitely higher.  Merlin tried not to cringe.

“Ah, my mistake.”  Morgana’s face seemed to lighten as she smiled, although Merlin still felt she was studying him far too closely.  And Merlin’s eyes must have still been unnaturally wide, because she said, “Don’t worry.  This ball is extravagant even for those of us who live here.  I’m sure most people feel a bit overwhelmed.”

Merlin managed a watery smile in return while his mind scrambled desperately for something to say because he didn’t have any sort of story or even a _name _planned (honestly, he was starting to think Arthur might be a little bit right about the idiot thing) and then he happened to glance over Morgana’s shoulder and oh gods, _Gaius_.

Of all the people he did _not _want to meet while wearing a dress (and the list was a very, very long one), Gaius was at the top.  He would see right through him, girl or no.

“Er, excuse me, my lady, I have to – I have to go for – I mean, someone is – bye!”  He completed that tragedy of a sentence with a tiny, panicked little wave, and tried his best to get lost in the crowd.  As he slipped through the rainbow of silk while trying desperately not to actually _touch _anyone, he wished fervently for three things: i) that Gaius hadn’t seen him, ii) that Morgana was disturbed enough by his odd behaviour that she would avoid him from now on, because he _really _hadn’t trusted the look in her eyes, and iii) that the ground would please swallow him up right now because this was Merlin and therefore the night could only get worse. 

Eventually the sea of dresses ended and Merlin discovered he had reached a wall.  He didn’t think he’d ever been this happy to see a wall before, and the three potted trees lining it were like a god’s blessing.  They looked a bit sickly, true, but they wore garlands in the Pendragon colours which covered up most of the condemning holes in their spiky foliage.  Merlin didn’t waste any time in slipping behind them and sliding down against the wall because he really needed to sit.  Now.

It was around this time that Merlin noticed there was something wrong with his feet.  He blinked at them, and then blinked again because the sight was a bit too confusing to comprehend immediately, on top of everything else.  After a moment he poked his left foot and confirmed that his shoes were, in fact, made out of glass. 

Merlin felt nausea coil in his stomach as he twisted his foot experimentally and watched the glass bend impossibly to accommodate it.  These had to be the most magical shoes he had ever seen, and they were going to get him _killed_.

What kind of magic decides that shoes should be made out of _glass_?  Clearly, Merlin really needed to explain some things to his magic.  Mainly, that gender really is a constant and should _not _change from day to day, and that shoes should be made out of reasonable things, like leather.  Things that could actually _bend_.  

__

“Is this hiding spot taken?”

“Eep!” was the noise Merlin most definitely did _not _make as he rushed to cover his feet from sorcery-accusing intruders.  And then the familiarity of the voice registered and Merlin found himself blinking owlishly yet again.  “Arthur?”

Arthur raised a royal brow in a disbelieving way that Merlin was intimately acquainted with.  “I didn’t realize we were on a first name basis, lady…?”

Merlin just stared for a blank moment before he realized that this was where he should supply a name.  Happily he did manage to stop himself from giving his own name (which would have been enough for even Arthur to figure out), but realized it was a Bad Idea to invent a new name and then expect himself to remember it, so he said, “Emrys.  My name is Emrys.”  After a moment, he decided it would be prudent to add, “Sorry, sire.”

Arthur waved aside his apology in a way that Merlin was sure the Arthur from a year ago would not have done, and instead said, “An unusual name, but it suits you.  Is the ball not to your liking, my lady Emrys?”

“Er, balls aren’t really my thing,” Merlin stumbled.  “And this one…”  He waved an arm vaguely to indicate the finery around them, and couldn’t help getting slightly distracted by the unexpected way his sleeve billowed.  And then, because no matter how strange the situation it was hard for him to remain nervous around Arthur, he grinned and said, “I could ask you the same thing, your highness.”

Arthur sighed and glanced through the trees to where the ladies still swirled and some people had begun to dance.  “There are places I’d rather be,” he admitted eventually.  “And balls feel rather different when it’s your hand on sale.”  Arthur looked at him then and Merlin threw up both hands in his rush to deny.

“I don’t want it!” he said in a voice that he was sure was far too loud on top of already being too high-pitched.  “Your hand, I mean.  I’m not here for that.”

Arthur looked mildly insulted but also amused, another expression Merlin was well acquainted with.  “What are you here for then?”

“I…”  Merlin floundered, desperately trying to spin a plausible story right then and there.  “It was my uncle’s idea.  I’ve never been to court before, and he thought it would be a good experience for me.  Of course, he probably had some other hopes, but…” Merlin forced an awkward laugh, “obviously that’s not going to happen.”

Arthur just looked amused now.  “Obviously.”  His expression turned considering, and Merlin braced himself for another _do I know you?_, Morgana-style.  But the expression resolved itself into a smile on its own and Arthur said instead, “You know, you remind me of someone.”

And that, right there, was why Morgana was scary and Arthur was not.  Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.  “Someone you like, I hope?”

Arthur’s smile shifted to a much more familiar mocking grin.  “Incredibly, yes.”  His gaze shifted back out toward the dance floor and the grin slid off his face.  “I suppose it’s un-princely to keep hiding in the bushes like this.”  He glanced back at Merlin with a strange look in his eyes.  “I don’t suppose you’d care to dance?”

Something odd happened to Merlin’s stomach then.  He swallowed and tried to ignore it.  “I…” He felt a twinge in his chest and winced.  What time was it?

“Are you alright?”  Arthur’s hand came forward to rest on his arm, steadying him.  Although, of course, Merlin most definitely did not need steadying.  He wasn’t really a girl.

“Yes, fine,” Merlin lied, trying to smile.  “I’m just not used to wearing all this finery.”  Arthur still didn’t remove his hand, and Merlin felt oddly disinclined to make him.  “I should be going though, your highness.  I promised my uncle I would return by midnight.”

Finally Arthur seemed to realize where his hand was and snatched it back.  He glanced out to the dance floor and then back to him.  “You’ll come back tomorrow night?”

_No_, Merlin told himself firmly.  _I will say NO.   _“I…”  And it really, truly wasn’t fair, because if Merlin didn’t know Arthur as well as he unfortunately did, he would never have seen the carefully guarded hope in his eyes.  “…Yes.”  _Idiot!_, went the Arthur-voice.

Arthur’s smile was brilliant, and Merlin swallowed again.  “Good.  Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night, Lady Emrys.”  And then, because Arthur was a stupid, noble prince and a _prat _besides, he grabbed Merlin’s hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it.  And while Merlin was standing there in dazed shock, he added, “Oh, and Arthur is fine.”  With a final smirk in Merlin’s direction Arthur left for the dance floor. 

It took Merlin a long moment to recover himself enough to remember that he needed to get out of here, _now_, before Arthur’s manservant was discovered hiding behind the trees and things started to look very, very suspicious.  He felt another twinge in his chest as he hurried out of the ballroom, not bothering with the charm this time.  He found his old alcove and hid himself as well as he could, wisely (for once) deciding not to risk walking back to his room.  In only a few minutes he felt the magic slip from him, like a heavy cloak being withdrawn, and then he was Merlin the manservant again, dressed in fraying rags and worn boots that were definitely not made of glass.  Calling himself all kinds of fool, Merlin escaped through the servants’ passages and back to his room, where he hoped he could at least catch some sleep before dawn.

 

*

 

Merlin considered faking a terminal illness of some sort to get out of facing Arthur the next day, but he decided on the whole that it was probably best to draw as little attention to himself as possible.  Besides, Arthur would probably come by anyway, realize he wasn’t actually sick, and then proceed to mock him for sulking because he wasn’t allowed to attend the balls.  Which would be so horribly ironic that Merlin might actually have to turn him into a toad, and that would lead to a whole other mess of problems that Merlin just wasn’t prepared to deal with, because while he could actually do the toad bit he hadn’t quite figured out the changing-back bit yet.  (He had only learned it in the first place because he found he could deal with a moody Arthur a lot better if he could threaten to turn him into a toad and actually mean it, even if the threat remained essentially empty; it was the principal of the thing.  Changing the test-toads back had proven unexpectedly difficult, as if the transformed rodents were actually happier as warty amphibians, and there was now a pond somewhere in the woods of Camelot that was suffering from severe toad overpopulation which Merlin really did feel very guilty about, when he remembered.)

Arthur had apparently had a late night, because he wasn’t even awake when Merlin showed up late.  Merlin tried to avoid waking him as he bustled around preparing the prince’s clothes and fetching breakfast, but Arthur did finally stir when the food arrived and his chambers filled with the smell of warm pastries.  Merlin knew he was acting strange, speaking little, avoiding eye contact and possibly staring a bit when Arthur wasn’t looking, but luckily Arthur seemed too tired to notice. 

The pair of them were enclosed in council meetings for most of the day, which Merlin was actually grateful about for once.  Merlin still wasn’t completely sure why he was there at all, but Arthur had recently begun insisting he attend.  When questioned, the prat just said that Merlin needed to know how the kingdom functioned if he was to be of any use to Arthur when he was king, but so far the kingdom’s “functioning” seemed to consist of bickering peasants, border skirmishes and lots of numbers that made Merlin’s head hurt, and he really didn’t know how any of this would make him better at polishing armor.  Gaius told him that it was a great honour to attend the council, that it was a sign of trust and respect.  He seemed surprised that Merlin was being allowed to attend at all, which Merlin was suitably indignant about even if he did wish that Arthur could show his trust and respect in a less mind numbingly boring way.

It did seem to have some disturbing repercussions, however.  Ever since he had become the prince’s manservant and it had become apparent that he wasn’t about to get sacked any time soon, the other servants had turned from sympathetic to rather cold.  It had bothered Merlin at first, but he had Gwen, who really was the best friend he could ever ask for, so he got over it.  Since he had started to attend the council at Arthur’s side, however, he felt like a leper.  On one horrifying occasion, he’d even caught someone _bowing _to him. 

He was just Merlin, the incompetent manservant from Ealdor.  People didn’t _bow _to him.  It was highly unnerving, and Merlin rather pathetically hoped that it would never happen again.

The single bonus about the council meetings was that Merlin actually got to sit down (sometimes, usually when someone was sick), which was rather novel.  There was also plenty of irony in the fact that a sorcerer was attending Uther’s very important council meetings at the Crown Prince’s request, and Merlin was sure he would have enjoyed that if he wasn’t so busy freezing in terror every time the king so much as glanced in his direction.

Just when Merlin was beginning to think of Arthur’s dented shield with longing, Uther finally declared the council adjourned, adding that there would be no further meetings for the duration of the ball.  Merlin tried not to noticeably cringe at this news as he hurried out after Arthur, who had begun vibrating with pent-up energy at least an hour ago and surely would have done something unforgivable if cooped up in that room for much longer.  Merlin usually tried to draw out some of the prince’s restlessness with subtle prods and humour so he didn’t work himself into a frenzy and explode (it truly was a wonder that Arthur had ever got on without him), and while he was usually fairly successful, it really was just a matter of time before one of them burst into totally inappropriate laughter during a report on grain supplies and got kicked out.  Today, however, he’d been too occupied with his own awkwardness to be much use, and that combined with the extra long session had left Arthur a jittery bag of nerves.  He strode off towards the training grounds as fast as was dignified, and Merlin gladly let him go.

He managed to avoid the prince for the rest of the day – which, although Merlin would’ve like to think otherwise, wasn’t actually much of a feat considering Arthur probably never left the training grounds.  He did have to attend Arthur at the banquet that evening, but it was shorter than usual in order to leave time for the ball.  He kept Arthur’s goblet full and tried not to notice when the prince scanned the crowd as if searching for someone, and before Merlin knew it the meal was over.

And then it was back to Arthur’s chambers so he could get ready proper.  Merlin set out Arthur’s clothes and then puttered around the room trying to look busy and definitely not like he wanted to run away.  Far away.

“So, _Mer_lin, aren’t you going to ask me about the ball?”  Even from behind the screen, the smugness in Arthur’s voice was unmistakable.

Merlin shrugged, even though he knew Arthur wouldn’t see it.  “What’s there to ask?  I expect all balls are quite similar.”

“Oh?  And what would you know about balls, exactly?”

“I know they’re probably horribly boring and—“ here Merlin paused to gulp because Arthur had stepped out from behind the screen and, well, he’d chosen those clothes for a reason, “…and I’m glad I’m free of them.”

Arthur smirked.  “You can’t lie to me, Merlin,” Arthur reminded him, and Merlin grimaced because sadly, that was beginning to seem true.  Arthur just had problems pinpointing what exactly Merlin was lying _about_.  He stretched out his arms and Merlin obediently walked over with his jacket, completing the black and red ensemble.

And then because Arthur was and would always be an utter prat, while Merlin was close enough to feel his breath he said, “I’ll have you know I rather enjoyed myself.”  And then, just when Merlin was starting to feel safe again, he added, “I think you’d like her, Merlin.”

Merlin choked and stepped back quickly, only to be met by Arthur’s knowing grin.  (Although what he knew Merlin had not a clue, because he couldn’t possibly _know_.)  “You…you found someone?”

“You could say that.”  Arthur carefully picked a nonexistent piece of lint off his sleeve, and Merlin had a moment to wonder who he thought he was fooling; Merlin had brushed that jacket himself just minutes ago.  “You’re not jealous, are you _Mer_lin?”

Merlin opened his mouth to throw back an automatic jab, but then his eyes rested on Arthur, standing there lit by candlelight in majestic red and black with his hair glowing golden like the crown he would one day wear, and suddenly it all seemed so juvenile.  So pointless, selfish.  And Arthur was…_more_.  Better than that.  He deserved everything this life could offer him, and then some.  Merlin’s previous awkwardness fell away and he slumped.

“No, sire,” he said softly, not even noticing that he’d added the honorific, or that he actually meant it for once.  “You deserve to find someone.  You…more than anyone.”

Arthur opened his mouth but after a moment seemed to reconsider, and instead closed it with an unreadable look on his face.  A moment passed with Arthur staring at him and Merlin apathetically staring back, feeling suddenly very depressed. 

“You should go down to the ball, sire,” Merlin prompted eventually when it became apparent that Arthur was going nowhere on his own.  “They’ll miss you.”

Arthur shot him one last unreadable but perhaps slightly worried look, and then he did as told and left.  Merlin remained immobile for a minute longer, struggling with what to do next.

Inevitably, however, he found himself slipping into the servants passages on his way down to the ballroom because he’d made Arthur a promise, and Merlin would do just about anything to avoid breaking a promise to Arthur, no matter how trifling – or heartbreaking – it was. 

 

*

 

If Merlin had thought his magic was confused before, he knew now that it was actually thoroughly evil.  Sadistic.  Rotten to the _core_.  And with no self-preservation instinct at all, obviously, because it was going to get him killed and then where would it be?

Merlin had decided on a compromise; if he was going to go through this traumatizing, idiotic charade again, at least he could do it with some proper shoes this time.  To that end he’d removed his worn, _leather _servant’s shoes and set them aside before trying to change again, with the intent of switching them with the glass monstrosities.  To his surprise – and not slight unease – the change was ridiculously easy to repeat, and he could only pray that he’d kept the midnight expiry date in place and not just changed himself into a girl for real.  He reached for his leather shoes but, to his horror, they had vanished, apparently replaced by the glass mistakes that now adorned his feet.  He slipped one off experimentally, but the moment his foot was free of it he felt a familiar spasm in his chest.  Merlin froze, blinking at his very male self in rags, and then the terror sunk in.  

Of course, having already established that he’d do just about anything to keep a promise to Arthur, he resigned himself to being executed at some point over the next two days and went through with it anyway.

Which was how Merlin found himself skulking around the buffet tables an hour later, where the generous tablecloths sagged against the floor and hid his feet from the majority of the room.  He avoided last night’s trees like the plague, because he’d promised Arthur only that he would come and, after having held up his end of the bargain, it would really be the prince’s own fault if they didn’t actually _see _each other.  Just because he didn’t break promises didn’t mean he couldn’t play with semantics.

The buffet tables also enjoyed the added bonus of deterring people from talking to him too much since, well, _food_.  Or, that was Merlin’s theory, anyway.

“You’re not eating.”

That sounded a lot like something Merlin might say, so he was rather surprised to hear it coming from someone else.  From this angle, it did seem fairly idiotic.  And obvious.

Being a lady (for the moment), Merlin said none of these things out loud (he did _too _learn), but something must have shown on his face anyway, for the speaker flailed, “I mean, it’s just all the time I’ve been here, you’ve been here too, but you…haven’t eaten anything.”

And now Merlin was reminded of Gwen, so he smiled.  This seemed to encourage the poor soul, who stopped flailing and smiled back. 

“I just...wondered…is everything all right?”

Merlin sighed, a soft (but very unladylike) puff of air.  What _was _all right?  But he did appreciate the sentiment, so he repeated the answer that had served him so well last night with Arthur, “Balls aren’t really my thing.”

The young man – one of the few males in the room tonight, which on this twisted evening _didn’t _include Merlin – looked relieved.  “Me neither, but…well, the prince isn’t the only one whose father wants him to find a bride.”

Merlin blinked.  “What…really?”  He looked around at the other men speckled throughout the sea of dresses, and then at Arthur holding court far, far away.  They didn’t have a chance.

His new friend laughed.  “I know.  Who’d settle for one of us when she could have him, right?”

Too late, Merlin realized his reaction may have seemed rather insulting.  “I didn’t mean—“

The young man waved him off.  “It’s okay.  Everyone understands that.  It’s just, they can’t all have him, right?  Or that’s what my father says, anyway.”

“Right,” Merlin said, more to buy himself time than anything else.  He’d never realized before how desperate all these nobles were to marry.  “The king’s not likely to marry him off yet anyway,” he said, and then immediately panicked because, oh gods, what if that was one of those secret council things that he was never supposed to tell anyone, ever?

“All the more reason for me to be here, then,” the man smiled, completely unaware of Merlin’s internal meltdown.  His smile faded a little and he shuffled, but finally blurted, “May I ask your name, lady?”

Merlin tried to calm down.  “Er, it’s, uh…Emrys.  And you?”

“Winston.  And, um, seeing as neither of us are eating, would you care to dance?”

Merlin’s eyes widened.  This man – a lord or something, must be – had admitted he was in want of a wife, and now he was asking for a dance?  “I—“

His fear must have shown, for Winston waved at him again.  “I’m not actually looking for a wife, you know.  That’s just my father.”

“Oh.”  Merlin smiled embarrassedly, and was relieved when his new friend smiled back.  “Um, I’m not very good at dancing.  At all.  Fairly terrible, actually.”

“As am I,” Winston laughed.  “So we should make right spectacles of ourselves, but at least we can do it together.” 

And he looked so enthusiastic that Merlin laughed too, and followed him out onto the dance floor.

 

*

 

Dancing wasn’t so bad, Merlin decided, once you got the hang of it.  And the people stopped staring and laughing.  That helped too.

Winston wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d made himself out to be, but Merlin actually found he was grateful for that, since the male had to lead and therefore had to have some idea what he was doing.  Merlin had the much easier end of the deal, and after only a few minutes of fumbling managed to learn the cues and follow along decently enough.  Being the lady had its perks at times, apparently.  (Though he would deny ever having had that thought, if asked.  Vehemently.)

Eventually they grew tired and staggered off the dance floor, supporting each other a little because they were laughing too hard to walk straight.  Merlin was sure he wasn’t being very ladylike, but he really didn’t care and besides, he was actually having fun.  He definitely hadn’t expected to have fun tonight. 

Winston seemed to be of the same opinion.  Merlin was glad to have found a friend.

“Lady Emrys.”

Merlin’s eyes widened as he watched Winston’s widen in sync.  As one, they turned to face the intruder.

Right.  That’s why Merlin had been hiding. 

“Lady Emrys,” Arthur repeated.  “May I have this dance?”

Merlin blinked.  He could hear Winston spluttering beside him, but having just proved that he could, in fact, dance, Merlin couldn’t think of a way to decline that wouldn’t get him beheaded.  “Er, of course, your highness.”

Arthur smiled back in a strained sort of way, before quickly grabbing onto his arm and dragging him back towards the dance floor.  Merlin tried to get him to let go so he could hook his hand around his arm the way he’d seen the other ladies doing but Arthur, the stubborn prat, was having none of it.  Merlin looked around in the vague hope that no one was watching but, of course, everyone was.

“Arthur,” he hissed.  “Let go.” 

Arthur glanced down and then, looking startled, quickly released Merlin’s arm.  Resisting the urge to rub his arm because he was not, in fact, a girl, Merlin rested his hand on Arthur’s arm instead as they fell into their dancing positions.

“My apologies,” Arthur muttered, and Merlin blinked because, well, had Arthur just _apologized_?  To him?  And then reality set in and he remembered that he was a ‘lady’ right now and so maybe this wasn’t too unusual after all.  So Merlin waved at him the way he’d seen Winston do and focused on keeping as much distance between himself and the prince as the dance would allow.  If he noticed, Arthur didn’t seem to mind. 

“You use my given name so easily,” Arthur mused after a moment, and Merlin froze.  “Why is that?”

Prat.  “It’s…er, it’s just that I’m used to hearing that.  Sire.”  Merlin scrambled, desperate for a lie, any lie, and hoped he still could lie to Arthur, sometimes.  Maybe the being-a-woman thing would throw him off.  “That is, the village girls chatter, and…it’s different, outside Camelot.”  There.  None of that had actually been a lie.  Merlin was quite proud of himself.

And then Arthur said, “You live outside Camelot?” and Merlin took it back.  He was still an idiot.

“Er, yes, Cendred’s kingdom.  But it’s, um, very small, I’m sure you haven’t heard of it.  Sire.” 

Arthur looked dubious, but he didn’t press, and they were silent for a few turns.  Merlin scrambled to think of something to say, and then berated himself for that when silence was possibly the only thing that _wouldn’t _damn him. 

“You know,” Arthur said, with a hint of that prattish whine that Merlin had grown to despise, “when you said you would return, I didn’t think that meant you’d spend the entire night hiding from me.”

“I wasn’t hiding from you!” Merlin spluttered, but he could tell Arthur was laughing at him. Apparently he really couldn’t lie to Arthur, and wasn’t that just great.

“You must be the only woman here who would actually hide when she knows the prince is looking for her,” Arthur said, shaking his head.

Merlin hunched his shoulders a little.  “Yes, well.  Someone has to be able to resist your ‘charms’.”

Arthur laughed out loud at that.  “You do know who I am, don’t you?”

Merlin couldn’t believe he’d said that.  “Er, what’s the safest answer to that question?”

But Arthur, still grinning, just shook his head again.  “There’s something about you, Emrys.”

Merlin froze.  Arthur knew, Arthur had recognized him, it was over.  He hadn’t had him executed when he found out Merlin was using magic to save his life, but he definitely would now that he’d discovered him using it to…to…what?  Play games?  Live out his fantasies?  Break his heart?  What was he doing here?

It took a moment, through all this panic, for Merlin to register the tell-tale twinge in his chest.  When he did, he took another look at Arthur, decided the prince would not still be grinning like that if he knew, and tried to calm down.

Arthur, however, had noticed.  “My lady?  Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’ve—I’ve only just realized what time it is.  I have to go.”  And without giving Arthur a chance to protest he broke away, stepping carefully over the dance floor and aiming for the doors.

“Emrys!” 

And because he was an idiot, Merlin paused, looked back.  Arthur was staring after him.

“Tomorrow?”

_No._  “Yes.”

Bugger.

 

*

 

On the third day, Merlin was forced to accept the fact that the world was against him.  Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course.  He still didn’t know what he was playing at with Arthur, but every time he thought of the coming night something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach and he knew he was going to go anyway. 

Someone, Merlin didn’t know who (though if he ever found out he_ would_ actually turn them into a toad and they could just stay that way, for all he cared) had informed the visiting ladies of his identity as the prince’s “trusted” manservant.  And because the ladies seemed to share a hive mind of some sort, he was now being bombarded with questions wherever he went.  He could only take so many wide, tearful eyes and “I just want Arthur to notice me”s before he caved and hid in the prince’s chambers.  Ironically enough, that seemed to be the only place in the castle that remained free of them.

Unfortunately, Arthur seemed to have realized the same thing, and by midday both of them were ensconced in the rooms together, shooting each other odd glances while Merlin picked away at his chores in the normal, unmagical and painfully slow way. 

“Couldn’t you just…?”

Merlin looked up.  Arthur was gesturing incomprehensibly at him, which either meant that there was an invisible stag in the room that Merlin was unaware of, or he was talking about magic.  “You know, if you’re bored, you could always go out and mingle.”

Arthur gave him a poisonous glare.  “You’re the one hiding in my rooms.”

“I’m not hiding,” Merlin denied and then paused, feeling uneasy at the echo of last night.  “I have work to do, which I understand is a foreign concept to you.”

“Please.  Like you ever actually do any of the chores I assign you.”

“I—“

“Without magic.”

Merlin closed his mouth because, okay, that was true.  But only because he was so busy with other things, which he wouldn’t be if Arthur wasn’t so intent on getting himself killed.  Between protecting Camelot and saving the Crown Prince’s royal arse every other day, he just didn’t have time to polish Arthur’s boots _and _sharpen his sword _and _muck out his stables the old fashioned way. 

“Hah, I knew it,” Arthur crowed, and flopped victoriously back onto his bed.  “I knew you couldn’t have been doing all that without magic.  You’re far too incompetent.”

“What…”  Many things suddenly made sense to Merlin, the main thing being that Arthur was actually a much greater prat than he had ever realized.  “No, you know what, never mind.  I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

Arthur barked a laugh.  “It’s your own fault for keeping secrets, Merlin.”

Abruptly all the fight went out of Merlin, because that was true, too.  “Yeah.”

“_Mer_lin.”  Reluctantly Merlin looked up again at the prince’s serious tone, and only when they had eye contact did Arthur continue.  “If you start agreeing to my insults I’m going to have to get a new manservant.”  His tone was chiding and his eyes said _I forgive you_, and although Merlin knew he would feel guilty about this for a long time, he was reassured.

Merlin managed a cheeky grin.  “But sire, I thought you always wanted a bootlicker.”

Arthur grinned back and flopped down on his bed again, out of sight.  “Well, I was told once to never get one, although the source was a bit dubious.  Besides, after your incessant chattering I’m not sure I would know quite what to do with all the peace and quiet.”

Merlin smiled and went back to attempting to mend Arthur’s spare cloak.  A comfortable silence fell over them, and lasted until a guard came knocking on the door to inform Arthur that His Majesty the King requested his presence in the throne room.  Arthur shared a pained look with Merlin, who laughed at him, and then was gone, leaving Merlin to magically do his chores in peace.

 

*

The peace was short-lived, as were all good things in Merlin’s experience. Soon enough Arthur was back to get ready for the ball, looking considerably more weary than when he’d left. Merlin gave him a sympathetic grimace and got together his clothes with as little fuss as possible. Once dressed, Arthur lingered, and Merlin couldn’t blame him even if he did wish he’d get on with it so he could feel guilty and wretched without an audience. Or with a less knowledgeable one, anyway.

“Are the balls really so terrible?”  Merlin received only a grimace in reply.  “Well then, at least they’ll be over after tonight.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Arthur muttered, without seeming aware that he’d said anything.  He tossed a shiny red apple into the air absently.

“What?  Is it…” Merlin half-choked, but forced himself to continue, “…is it about that person you met?”

“I suppose,” Arthur murmured.  “In a way.”  He still sounded like he was talking to himself.  “She’s…” 

“Yes?”

Arthur stopped, as if finally realizing he wasn’t alone.  He fixed Merlin with a suspicious, probing look and Merlin widened his eyes and tried to appear as innocent as he could which, in his experience, wasn’t very.  After a long moment Arthur shook his head, apparently not finding whatever he’d been looking for, and turned away.  Merlin exhaled and began to think he was safe which was, of course, a mistake.

“I can probably get you into this ball, if you want,” Arthur offered evenly.  “Since you wanted to go so badly.  This is your last chance, after all.”

Merlin tried not to gape.  “Er…I’m—that is, I promised Gaius I would help him out tonight.”

Arthur raised a brow at Merlin’s flimsy excuse but thankfully didn’t comment.  He swept out of the room in a flurry of Pendragon red, and Merlin slumped against one ornately carved bedpost.  If he hadn’t known what he was doing before, then he was hopelessly lost now.   

 

*

 

Merlin snuck down to the ballroom shortly after he knew Arthur had made his appearance, and was careful to stay away from both the tree-lined wall and the buffet table this time.  Unfortunately this didn’t leave a lot of options for hiding spots, and Merlin resorted to trying to blend in with the crowd to remain inconspicuous.  This, of course, somehow resulted in him becoming more conspicuous than ever before.

He had already established that he was cursed so really, it shouldn’t have surprised him when his arm was randomly almost yanked out of its socket and he found himself dragged off into a dark corner to be stared at intently.  By Morgana.

“Er…”

Morgana said nothing, just kept staring at him, eyes wide and eerily blue.  Merlin shivered involuntarily, and tried in vain to dislodge her grip on his arm.  Her hands were like steel, white-knuckled from the force of her grip.  Merlin was quickly becoming seriously disturbed.  He was starting to consider drastic, execution-dancing action when finally, she spoke.

“…Merlin?”

Merlin gaped.  Too late, he realized he should be confused, or deny it, or something.  “I—I don’t know what—“

“It _is _you,” Morgana said wonderingly, apparently not needing his input.  “But how?”

Merlin thought it best to concede that point.  “I…got cursed?”

“No…” Morgana murmured, and Merlin glared.  Was she even listening to him?  “No, you did this to yourself, you…have magic?”

Merlin could only stare.  “How do you…”

Morgana blinked, as if coming out of a trance, opened her mouth to speak, and then—

“Emrys!  You didn’t tell me you knew the _prince!”_

Merlin blinked too.  For someone who didn’t exist, the Lady Emrys certainly had a lot of people wanting to speak to her.  “Winston?”

“Who else?  Don’t tell me you know _everyone_—oh.”  Winston paused, having evidently just noticed Morgana.  “Er, good evening, my lady.”

Merlin chanced a glance at Morgana, and found her looking between the two of them in amusement.  He sighed a little in relief.  While Morgana could be dangerous in any mood, amusement was one of the safer ones. 

“I don’t, not really,” Merlin tried to explain, and heard a muffled, ladylike cough behind him that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Then why’d he ask you to dance last night?  He knew your name.”  Another cough-laugh.

“He, er…we were hiding behind the same plants for a little while.  On the first night.  By accident.”  Merlin winced as Morgana gave up her coughing pretense and simply laughed, loud and clear.

“Arthur was hiding behind _plants?_  Oh, that’s priceless,” she snickered.  “Literally.  Thank you for that, Mer—Emrys.  Emrys.  That name sounds familiar…”

And well, she apparently knew about the magic, so why not.  “I believe it has…druidic origins, my lady.”

Morgana’s eyes widened, but Winston wasn’t finished.

“So what you’re saying, then, is that the prince sought you out after only knowing you for one night?”  Winston jabbed a finger at Merlin accusingly.  “You’re his favourite!”

“What?  No, I’m not!”

“You are!  The only friend I make at this stupid ball, and she’s going to end up marrying the prince!”  Winston threw up his hands, looking thoroughly exasperated.  Merlin caught Morgana hiding a smile, but could only stare at Winston himself.

“I’m not—“

“Never mind,” Winston interrupted, and abruptly grabbed Merlin’s hands.  “I’m glad to have met you, Emrys.  It was fun.  Remember me when you have all that power, yeah?”  Merlin blinked, which Winston seemed to take as agreement.  He released Merlin’s hands and walked away, giving Merlin a last little wave over his shoulder.  “Good luck with the prince, Emrys!”  He was grinning as he said it so Merlin grinned back, glad there seemed to be no hard feelings even though the other man was obviously deluded.

“Well, this seems to be quite the mess you’ve made for yourself, Merlin,” Morgana pronounced, grinning wickedly.  Merlin reevaluated rapidly.  Perhaps amusement _was _one of the dangerous moods, after all.  This suspicion was confirmed moments later when Morgana said, “Care to dance?”

Merlin grimaced, but took one look in Morgana’s eyes and realized that graceful defeat was his only real option.  For the third time in this disturbing farce, he very reluctantly allowed himself to be led out onto the dance floor.

 

*

 

Dancing with a girl really was much to be preferred, Merlin decided later.  For one thing, it just _felt _better, more natural, even when he was a girl himself – things were soft where they should be soft, spaces and curves existed in the right locations.  For another, the dance was a lot less formal when two women were dancing together which, considering the current gender imbalance in the ballroom, actually wasn’t all that uncommon.  They took turns leading, or would have if Merlin had had any idea how to dance; as it was, he mostly followed Morgana’s lead, and she seemed happy enough to direct him.  It was fun, in a way that was different from his dance with Winston but no less enjoyable for it.  It was _very _different from his dance with Arthur, which he was still mostly trying not to think about.

“He’s watching you.”

Merlin didn’t have to ask who Morgana meant.  He raised his eyes and almost immediately found Arthur, surrounded by a circle of giggling women as always, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Merlin.  Inexplicably Merlin felt his face heat and he looked away quickly. 

“What do I do?”

Morgana looked neutral.  “I don’t know.  This is your mess, Merlin.”

Merlin sighed in agreement, and then a sudden thought occurred to him.  He couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked already, but he supposed that he had always believed Morgana wouldn’t betray him, if it came down to it.  “You won’t tell anyone, will you?  About the…”

Morgana didn’t need to ask what he meant, either.  “Does Arthur know?”

“Yes.”

She smiled.  “Then no.  Your secret is safe with me.”

The relief he felt was immediate and overwhelming and he grinned widely, freely.  “Thank you, my lady.  You’ve no idea…wait.”  Merlin trailed off, frowning.  “You would’ve told Arthur?  If he hadn’t known?”

“He has a right to know.”

“You…you wouldn’t be worried he’d tell Uther?”

Morgana shook her head, and her smile turned soft.  “You’ve changed him, Merlin.  He no longer obeys his father without question.  I never doubted he would make the right decision, for you.  He’s better than that.  You both are.”

“Morgana…” 

Her arm crept around his shoulders and she enveloped him in a half-hug.  “You’re safe now, Merlin.  You’re among friends, and we’ll protect you.”

“Morgana…thank you.”

How long they remained that way, motionless in the middle of the dance floor, Merlin couldn’t say.  Eventually Morgana released him and he stepped away, trying to swipe unobtrusively at his definitely-not-teary eyes. 

“Arthur might still kill me for this one,” Merlin reminded her, gesturing expansively at his current state.

Morgana’s wicked grin returned.  “Oh, I think you’ll survive.”  And with that she swept away, leaving Merlin only a few moments to stare after her in confusion before he was interrupted yet again.  Really, Lady Emrys was getting to be far too popular; Merlin couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

“Lady Emrys,” came Arthur’s voice.  “I wish to speak with you, if you have a moment.”

Merlin honestly wasn’t sure how many moments he had left, but he figured since he was only here at Arthur’s request anyway, he could give the prince the last of them.  He obediently followed Arthur off the dance floor to a more secluded location near the wall, but still fully visible to the rest of the room.  Thankfully, the giggling women displayed some sense of propriety and kept their distance, restraining themselves to whispering and pointing from afar.

“I wish to be honest with you,” Arthur began, and Merlin’s stomach plummeted.  This was _not _going to be in any way good.  “Despite the official purpose of this ball, my father does not intend to marry me off to anyone just yet, and neither do I believe myself to be quite ready.  Even when the king does decide my time is nigh, doubtless I will have little say in the matter.”

Merlin gulped and Arthur held up a hand as if to forestall any comment, not that Merlin was actually going to say anything.  He was far too petrified for that.

“That said,” Arthur continued, “I find I have genuinely enjoyed my time with you, even what little of it I have managed to get.  I would be honoured if you would accept my invitation to remain in Camelot awhile as a royal guest, Lady Emrys.  You may of course leave whenever you please, but you would be treated as royalty for the duration of your stay, however long or short that may be.”

Merlin felt sick; he should never have let it go this far.  “I…I can’t, Arthur.  I’m sorry.”

Disturbingly, Arthur didn’t look disappointed by this.  In fact, he looked almost pleased.  “I suspected as much.”

Merlin opened his mouth to say…well, he didn’t know quite what, so it was probably for the best that his chest seized when it did, causing him to gasp and completely forget about speaking.

Merlin could vaguely hear Arthur in the background, shouting, but he couldn’t make out the words.  He didn’t know what was going on, what was wrong this time, but he did know he needed to get out _now_.  He mumbled something, hopefully a semi-plausible excuse of some kind, and stumble-ran out of the ballroom and into the hall.

After the colourful chaos of the ballroom, the hall was blessedly silent and plain, even bedecked in Pendragon finery as it was.  Merlin stumbled over to his alcove, and had only stood there shivering for a mere handful of seconds before he felt the change sweep over him.  Sick at heart now as well as physically nauseous, Merlin snuck back to his room as fast as he could without being seen.  At some point along the way he registered the fact that he was missing a shoe, which was annoying but not overly worrisome; a servant’s worn leather boot would hardly cause an uproar, no matter where it turned up.  With any luck he would be able to find it if he rose early enough the next morning, and wouldn’t have to go half barefoot for the foreseeable future. 

Fortunately Gaius was still at the ball, so Merlin was saved having to explain his late hour and appearance to his mentor.  He made a beeline for his room and collapsed on his familiar, if not luxurious, bed, and tried to stop thinking.  At least it was over now.  In a few weeks – months – he would be able to forget about this whole mess and things could go back to normal.  Maybe one day – far, far in the future – he would even tell Arthur and they would laugh about it.  One day.

For now, he needed to sleep.  And somehow, he did.

 

*

 

Sleep was far too precious to Merlin at the moment to be taken for granted, so he was understandably frustrated when he was awoken what felt like minutes later by his own magic.  This was new.  Usually it needed his consent or at least his conscious awareness to perform deeds that could get him killed.

Merlin blinked blearily, trying to mentally prepare himself for whatever fresh horrors awaited him.  He was unsuccessful.

“Arthur?”

Merlin didn’t recognize his own voice.  No, that wasn’t quite right…  His hand went to his throat rather desperately, and to his horror he felt an oval pendant, glowing warmly with magic.  His skin felt far too smooth, as well, and he was…

His eyes slowly lifted to Arthur, who was sitting on the edge of Merlin’s lumpy mattress and looking remarkably calm.

“Merlin,” the prince replied evenly. 

Merlin blinked, uncomprehending.  And then he became aware of the strange position his foot was in, slid his eyes down to investigate, and froze.  There, cradled in Arthur’s hands, lay his foot, complete with the missing shoe.  The missing _glass _shoe.  He must have lost it before he changed back…and once it was separated, it hadn’t changed back with him…

Merlin raised his eyes back to Arthur, horror engulfing him completely.  This was it.  This was the end.  He was going to die.  He didn’t even have an explanation because _he _didn’t know what he’d been doing, there was no _way_…

Arthur was shaking his head.  “You really are something, Merlin,” he said.  “Can you change back?”

“Uh…”  Merlin forced his mind to catch up as Arthur’s expression began to shift into irritation.  No need to provoke the scary Crown Prince.  “I think so.  Give me a minute.”  He closed his eyes and tried to remember how it felt when the magic slid off him, how it felt to be _himself _again.  He wasn’t sure it had worked, but he heard Arthur gasp and he figured that meant something must have happened.  He opened his eyes.

He was himself again.  With both shoes.

He grinned ridiculously at that, and probably would have laughed a little too, hysterically, if he hadn’t looked up at that moment.  The intense look in Arthur’s eyes sobered him immediately, and he remembered death was still very much on the table.

“You really are an idiot,” Arthur growled, and then he was kissing him, and Merlin realized he had rather terribly miscalculated everything, and been a bit blind besides.  And he was really quite okay with that. 

 

*

 

_(Epilogue, because this is the Story That Would Not End)_

“So, who’s Emrys, anyway?  Someone I should know about?”

“…”

“Merlin.”

“It’s, uh…it’s what the druids call me.”

“The druids.  Have a _special name_ for you?”

“…Yes?”

“Is that a question, _Mer_lin?”

“…No?  Ow!”

“Any other secrets you wish to share, Merlin, before I change my mind and send you to the stocks for impersonating a noblewoman?”

“Er…”

“I don’t believe this.  _Merlin_.”

“I, um, may have…Morgana knows about the…magic.”

“…”

“It wasn’t my fault!  She guessed!  I didn’t do anything!”

“Right, nothing, except for where you _magically turned yourself into a girl_ complete with _magical glass slippers _to get the prince’s attention.  Gods, Merlin.  How are you still alive?”

“I did not—!”

“What?  Turn yourself into a girl?  Pointlessly endanger yourself by wearing magical glass slippers and then proceeding to _lose _one of them?  Want my attention?  Because I think you’ll find that the answer to all those questions is that you _did_.”

“…”

“Gods, Merlin.  Next you’ll be telling me it’s our destiny to be together, or some such rubbish, and that a faerie told you so.  Or no, you don’t like faeries – a unicorn, then.  Or a dragon.”

“…”

“Merlin?”

“...Er.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Photo Edit: All is Semblative](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590373) by [ems_specter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ems_specter/pseuds/ems_specter)




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